


And so it ends

by sapphirebluerubyredroses



Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt and comfort, M/M, TW: Suicide, the one and only thing I have to contribute to the fandom and its sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirebluerubyredroses/pseuds/sapphirebluerubyredroses
Summary: Antigone's scream woke the whole of the village......Or where Rudyard commits suicide, and the others have to figure out how to go on.





	And so it ends

Antigone's scream woke the whole of the village.

Sunlight slanted through the tiny window of Rudyard's depressingly small bedroom. The rare gentle golden hues caught the swing of his legs. Even with his height and the low slant of the ceiling, it would have seemed impossible to have managed what he'd done. It was the only thing, it seemed, that he'd been able to accomplish in his life.

The scream traveled through the village, sneaking in through the gaps beneath doors and the cracks in window panes to wake the slumbering residents of Piffling Vale. Even the sheep milling about on the edge of the far cliffs and the fields as far from the village as could be managed were woken by the scream.

Not one resident of the island thought it any different than a normal morning at the Funn Funerals, rising and proceeding with their morning rituals. The only resident who heard anything abnormal with the cry was Eris Chapman, and 8:27 in the morning found him slightly rumbled in flannel pajamas and a grey cardigan standing in front of Funn Funerals. Worry creased his brow as he raised a fist to knock on the door.

Georgie answered the door, a roll of her eyes and a turn of her back his greeting. “What do you want, Eric?”

“That... That scream... Is everything alright?”

“That's just Antigone and Rudyard's morning. I thought you would have figured that out by now,” she explained flatly, handing over a weak cup of tea before placing the used tea bag in her own cup.

Eric glanced towards the ceiling where only silence could be heard. “Yes, but they would be arguing by now, or Rudyard would have left, or Antigone would be stomping down to the morgue, or... Well, every loud thing under the sun.”

Georgie frowned, glancing towards the ceiling herself. “I- I'm going to go check on them.”

“I'll come with you.” The fact that she didn't immediately shoot him down spoke volumes to her unease which only made him more worried.

They found Antigone on the floor in front of Rudyard's open door, curled tightly in on herself in the middle of the hall. Her face was pressed to her legs. Her arms were wrapped around herself, shoulders shuddering.

“Antigone?” Georgie asked, dropping down beside her and running her hands along her back. “What happened? Are you... are you crying? Antigone?”

“Rudyard,” Antigone sobbed, her voice pitching high until any hope of spoken words slipped away.

Stepping around Antigone, Eric finally peaked into Rudyard's bare room. He stumbled back against the wall, crying, “Rudyard!” Horror spilled through his body, poisoning his blood stream, withering any type of hope and happiness that rested behind his breast bone. The flowers that had bloomed in his chest at the beginning of their friendship, real friendship and something more, burned away to ash.

The memory of a kiss flitted through his mind, half remembered, but warm all the same. Rudyard not drunk enough and Eric too drunk for his own good. There was a confession from both of them. There was warmth shared between them. There was falling asleep and waking up with his head pillowed in Rudyard's lap.

He saw Rudyard with burned red skin.

He saw Rudyard with his head thrown back in laughter.

He saw their hands slotted together.

He hadn't known, hadn't realized, hadn't seen. Rudyard had never given him the slightest indication that he was thinking about... Never in all of the hours they had spent together, the drunken kisses and soft touches did he think Rudyard was considering... He couldn't think the word. If he didn't think it, say it, it wouldn't be real.

But it was real. Rudyard had committed suicide, and the evidence was skimming toes across worn wood floorboards.

God, how could he have been so blind?

“Rudyard!” he cried again, shoving off the wall and rushing forward passed Antigone and Georgie to lift his body.

_'I should have known.' Isn't that just the thing everyone says when someone commits suicide? All the signs were there, but it takes death for them to be seen in the light of day._

“W-We have to get him down! We have to get him down!” Eric shouted, staring back over his shoulder at the women behind him. “Georgie! Antigone! Help me get him down! Help me get him down! We can't leave him like this!” Neither of them moved.

_No. Wrong. All the signs were there, but most people are just too caught up in themselves to see them for what they are. To recognize them. Even him. Even Eric fucking Chapman._

His vision was blurry, his cheeks wet and his nose running as his legs began to tremble. He lifted Rudyard higher, his body sagging in his arms. The rope did not release him, tied too precisely. Too tightly. “Help me get him down!” His shout was harsh and cutting, rending at the edges to produce sharp pieces.

Eric Chapman was a useless, useless man who couldn't save the one person who was more important than anyone else in his life. How could he not have notice?

“Georgie, goddammit!” he sobbed, pressing his face into the thin fabric of Rudyard's shirt. “Get over here! Please!” His knees wobbled.

Georgie shot to her feet, shock still written across her face as she staggered forward and wrestled the noose from Rudyard's bruised throat.

Eric eased his body to the floor, finally collapsing beneath the horror of the situation. He could feel Georgie's eyes piercing him as he cradled his body and whispered, “Rudyard, you stupid man. You goddamn stupid man.” He didn't care what Georgie saw or thought.

Antigone crawled towards them, eyes on her twin. She reached out searching fingers, curling them around his wrists. “Rudyard,” she keened, curling around him the same as Eric.

After another moment, Georgie dropped to the floor as well.

…..

“_Eric, what are we doing?” Rudyard whispered, fingers wrapped around a cup. His body sagged against the front of a couch. A little contemplative smile pulled up the corners of his mouth, an expression he would never wear sober._

_Eric cherished that smile every time it gifted his presence, every time he saw it curl across Rudyard's face. He loved Rudyard's smile, even if he rarely saw it. More so because it was rare. “Currently, we are drinking,” he said grandly, being purposefully obtuse as he drained his cup and sloshed more of their chosen poison into said cup._

_Rolling his eyes just as grandly, Rudyard struggled to sit up straighter against the couch. They'd never actually made it onto the cushions before sliding to the floor, shirts partially unbuttoned. “Yes, surely, but that's not what I meant.”_

_Eric squinted at him, leaning heavily towards him across the space that separated them almost on instinct. He just wanted to be closer to him, so much closer. Startling as he nearly toppled over, he righted himself only to send a wave of nausea through him. “What do you mean then?”_

“_You know. This.” He waved between them. “Us. Hanging out. Flirting. All of it. We're supposed to be rivals. Instead, we're... something else.” His already flushed cheeks brightened beneath Eric's unfocused gaze._

“_Friends?” Eric suggested, grinning, “It took me long enough to manage.” He was leaning in towards Rudyard again, and this time he didn't stop himself as Rudyard followed his lead._

“_Is that all?”_

_Eric had to force his brain to cooperate as he thought on those words. Three simple words. They were close enough to feel Rudyard's breath on his chin. He was nearly on all fours now, leaning into something he wasn't quite sure about. “Maybe. Maybe not.”_

“_I would... not be opposed to being more,” Rudyard said, voice dropping low as a whisper._

“_Yeah?” Eric asked incredulously, the grin falling away before bursting into a full smile. “I think I'd like that.” He closed the distance, guided along by Rudyard's hand on his sleeve. When they're mouths met, he knew he'd never willingly give him up. “I want to-” he gasped._

“_Yes,” Rudyard said almost reverently, leaning into him._

_They tangled together, a mess of limbs and clothes and bed sheets when they finally made it there. They were laughing and giggling and whispering._

“_Eric, I-”_

Eric woke with a start, trembling and exhausted, curled in on himself. His breath fogged in the air before him.

He was not warm. He was not in his bed. He was not with someone he loved.

He was alone. Alone. So very alone all over again.

Struggling to his feet, he stared down at Rudyard's body and felt his heart clench in his chest again. And again, he felt the hot tears spill over his cheeks. And again, he felt the sobs rising in his throat. Clenching Rudyard's cold stiff fingers, he dropped back down to his knees.

It was just a dream. It had always been just a wonderful dream from the day they met to the day Rudyard was no longer in the world. Just a dream.

Dreams always have an end, but somehow, he'd missed the signs.

…..

“Where's that damn Chapman?” Georgie griped loudly, jerking at her black button down uncomfortably. Sweat stained every crease of her shirt, running down the sides of her temples. Despite the clouds skimming across the sun, shedding shafts of light over the open mausoleum every few moments, it was unbearably hot. Everybody was sweating, and by everybody she meant everybody. Rudyard may have been disliked, but Piffling Vale had turned out in entirety to wish him a farewell.

Except, that is, for the undertaker. That was to say, except for Eric Chapman.

“Really, you'd think that the one funeral he would absolutely be on time for would be the rival undertaker. Honestly, that man has no shame,” Georgie complained.

Antigone didn't reply. She stared into the gaping doorway, her arms slack by her sides, her face ruddy from the heat and sweat and tears. Her hair lay in drapes around her head.

“Antigone?” Georgie asked carefully, and when Antigone turned dull eyes towards her, her heart recoiled. “I'm going to find him. I'm sure Eric just got the time wrong or something.” As she turned away, she muttered, “Or something,” bitterly beneath her breath.

She sprinted away from the small building, calling, “Just give me a moment people. I've got to get our good undertaker to get this shindig rolling.”

The gathered crowd shuffled meaningfully, whispering among themselves.

Georgie burst through the door of Eric's funeral parlor, nearly kicking the door off its hinges as she stormed into the foyer. “Eric, where are you, you daft idiot?” She paused, allowing the door to swing closed. Every vase and coffin display were flipped, not in the way of a thief looking for treasure, but in the way of someone taking out their anger.

Stepping carefully around a bouquet of crushed roses, she cautiously slipped down the stairs into the mortuary. Gentle jazz cut through with static drifted up to her on the scent of clementines and cinnamon. “Eric, are you down here?” she called, taking the steps one at a time, crouching lower and lower until she could just peak around the wall without reaching the bottom. She was nearly sitting on the stairs when she stopped.

Rudyard's body was laid out on the work table, a white sheet covering his face. The cloth was a shocking contrast to the black suit he'd been dressed in. Beside the table, Eric sat with his knees pulled to his chest, face pressed against his knees. He was stone still, his skin a sickly shade of white that appeared faintly blue.

“Eric?” Georgie asked loudly, worry clear in her voice as she scrambled down the rest of the stairs. He jerked at her clattering and she paused, staring down at him. “Eric, it's... it's the day. Everyone's waiting at the grave. We're all waiting for you. But you don't look like you're ready.”

“I can't,” Eric whispered, his arms tightening around his legs.

“What was that?”

“I can't do it.”

“Do what?”

“I can't watch him be put in the ground. I can't. I can't do it. I can't. I can't. I-”

Crouching in front of him, Georgie slapped both her hands against his cheeks.

“Ow!” he cried, something sparking in those blue eyes of his, something of the old Eric Chapman. “Georgie!”

“Shut up!” she snapped, eyes flashing as she stared him down. “Just shut up, will ya? I know there was something between you two. It wasn't hard to see. I don't know exactly how deep that went, but there was something there."

“Georgie-” Eric hiccuped, tears filling his blue eyes and slipping down his cheeks. “I loved him. I really, really loved him. I only told him once. And now he's gone, and I- I can't watch him go into-”

Georgie watched the man everyone thought was perfect crumbling beneath the weight of the absence of the man everyone thought was as imperfect as they come. Gripping his shoulder, she squeezed them gently. For the first time, she realized how disheveled he looked. Hair greasy and sticking up all over his head. Face sticky with layers of dried sweat and tears. Dark bags beneath his eyes. Clothes three days old, at least they smelled three days old. Even his fingers appeared fragile and bruised. His words were more true and obvious in his appearance than they were in his voice.

“It's hard, Eric,” she said, “It's really fucking hard watching someone you love be buried or cremated or entombed. Believe me. It's the ending of the last bits of hope that they aren't actually gone. You have to do it though. You have to. Not only for yourself, but for Rudyard and Antigone and me. Rudyard deserved this much. And you're not alone. We're all here. Everyone is out there waiting. You're not doing this alone. So...” She blinked back a wave of tears, biting at her trembling lip. Voice thick, she continued. “So, let's go get him in a coffin and let's get him in the ground. On time. Just the way he'd want it. Okay?”

Eric was staring at her, and for a long moment, she thought he was just going to continue staring. Finally though, he nodded and dragged himself to his feet. “Too bad he's not going into the ground,” he murmured flatly, and she thought he might have been trying to make a joke.

“Shut up, Eric, and let's do this.” Accepting his extended hand, Georgie got to her feet. “Atta boy.”

…..

“_Your hair looks nice today,” Eric told Rudyard as soon as he stepped through the doors of Chapman Funerals. The black locks had been washed and trimmed. He could clearly see the strands of starlight silver now that were beginning to grow in at his temples and the back of his neck as he turned to lock the door. He could see the back of his neck. Eric wanted to kiss the top notch of his spine._

_Something about Rudyard seemed to radiate life._

_It took him a moment to realize that Rudyard had locked the door._

“_Rudyard...” Eric started cautiously._

_Rudyard gripped his wrist and pulled him along as he marched them up the stairs to the original flat that had been above the funeral home. As soon as the door was closed, he wrapped his arms around Eric, holding him tightly._

_Eric raised his arms slowly, returning the hug if rather more confused. “What's going on? Are you alright?”_

“_I'm fine. I'm fine,” he breathed against Eric's collar bone. “I just wanted to spend time with you. It's the end of the day anyway, and I couldn't wait.”_

“_Okay... Okay. Sure. What do you want to do? Are you hungry?”_

“_I could eat,” Rudyard said without lifting his head._

“_Let's cook then. You want to invite Georgie and Antigone over?”_

“_Not tonight. I just want to be alone with you.”_

_Eric couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Nodding, he slipped from Rudyard's arms and into the kitchen. “This is going to be nice. We don't get alone time that often.”_

_Rudyard watched him for a long moment, eyes flickering with indecision and apprehension, before he asked, “Have I ever told you that I love you, Eric?”_

_Eric dropped the pan he was holding, heat blooming in his cheeks. People had told him that they'd loved him several times in his life, but never had he believe them. He stooped to grab the pan. “N-no, I suppose you haven't.”_

“_Well. I do. I should have told you sooner.”_

_Setting the pan on the counter, Eric returned to where Rudyard was still standing. He pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you too, Rudyard. I hope you know and believe that.”_

_Something sad crept into his smile, but Rudyard nodded. “I know.”_

Eric should have known something was wrong that day. He should have seen it in the favorite jumper he'd so lovingly pulled over Eric's head, telling him it looked better on Eric than himself. He should have felt it in every kiss and caress. Especially when they'd gone to bed together with Rudyard's uncharacteristically focused attention of Eric's pleasure. He had just been so happy to hear Rudyard return his feelings though, he hadn't thought anything weird that night. Everything he'd wished for in just those three words.

He hadn't caught the signs.

Two days later, Rudyard was gone.

…..

Eric was a mess, tears on his face and voice trembling as he went through the usual ceremony of his funerals. Neither he, Georgie or Antigone listened to the Reverend's rambling, meaningless speech. They carried his casket down into the Funn mausoleum, one of the oldest on the island, and slid him into the stone crevice that had been carved out for him by his forefathers. His own parents lay in coffins of their own above him. Below him gaped the space that would one day hold Antigone.

When Georgie pushed the door closed, Antigone collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Eric crumbled beside her, wrapping trembling arms around her as he whispered against the top of her head, “It'll be alright. Everything will be okay. I'm sorry, Antigone, I'm so sorry.”

“He's gone,” she moaned piteously, clutching at the leg of his three day old suit in her three day old dress.

Sitting behind Antigone, Georgie simply leaned her head against her back, staring at the mausoleum and wondering how Rudyard could do this to them.

The townspeople could only stare at them, confused and concerned, because Rudyard had never been a liked man. How could there be even three people who mourned him so much? One they tolerated despite her foibles. One who could do anything she set her mind to and was well liked. The last who was the most liked and sought after man on the entire island.

They knew though that with Rudyard Funn entombed, they were never going to find out now.

The sobs and keening of both Eric and Antigone followed the townspeople's procession back to town.

…..

Rudyard's favorite jumper hung in Eric's closet, his favorite book sitting on the bedside table of the side he'd most often taken, his favorite tea cup from Eric's cabinet still sat in the sink with a stain in the bottom.

There were so many little reminders of him all around Eric, from the sweet shop to the cliffs to his own home. Yet, there was no Rudyard left to give them meaning.

Still, the morning after the funeral, he pulled Rudyard's jumper over his head, tucked his book into his back pocket and grabbed the cleaned cup. Crossing the square, he pushed Funn Funeral's door open to find Antigone and Georgie sitting very close over cups of tea. A third steamed on the other side of the table.

They looked up at him, eyes rimmed red to mirror his own.

Sitting in the seat beside the cup, he said, “What do we do now?”


End file.
